


Kinktober 2018: Eyes Wide Supernatural

by AviDragonLady



Series: Kinktober/Flufftober 2018 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Cults, F/F, F/M, Kinktober
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-23 08:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AviDragonLady/pseuds/AviDragonLady
Summary: People in the Northland keep dying or vanishing under strange, kinky circumstances. Can the boys, with the reluctant help of Rowena, figure out what's happening before it's too late?





	1. Harlequin Romance Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: mask

Ben knocked on Susie’s door, palms sweating through the light leather gloves he wore. James swore this mask would do the trick, but he had his doubts. How could a mask make a girl want to have sex with him?  
  Susie answered, wearing something modest yet pretty. She backed into the equally modest apartment, smiling a welcome.  
  “I hope spaghetti is okay,” she said. There was a nervous edge to her words. They’d always met in public before, so he didn’t blame her.  
  “Spaghetti is fine.” Ben fiddled with the mask behind his back.  
  “Can I take your coat?” she asked.  
  “Oh, I’ll… If you’ll show me where to hang it, I can…” he trailed off, unsure how to hide the mask if she took his coat.  
  “S...sure, they go in here,” she said. He thought she sounded hurt, but she’d forgive him, later.  
  He hung his flannel coat in her closet, tucked the mask in an interior pocket where she couldn’t see. It only fit halfway, so he tugged the lapels closer together and closed the door.  
  They had a nice enough dinner. They talked about work, family, whatever crossed their minds. It was like every other date they’d had, except for his mask in the pocket. _Better than any ace in a hole,_ he thought, chuckling at something she said. _Good timing there,_ he thought with relief.  
  After dinner, she brought out a fruit cobbler. He could think of so many ways he’d like to eat it, but he settled for a plate. He could be patient tonight.  
  As he expected, she led him to the door shortly after dessert. He pulled his coat from the closet, but instead of putting it on, he draped it over his arm. His other hand pulled the mask from its pocket, while he uttered parting platitudes.  
  “You have such bright eyes.” She seemed startled at the transition, or the compliment, or both. “I wonder…” he pulled the mask from his coat, placed it gently over her face. It was as easy as that. As promised, she did change, almost instantly. Those bright eyes softened, smoldered behind the old harlequin mask.  
   _Does this mean we’re about to have a harlequin romance?_ he wondered in the shrinking portion of his brain that was still thinking.  
  His Susie, perfectly sweet and biddable, yanked him into her bedroom. He hadn’t realized that it was so close to the entryway. She all but ripped his clothes off in a frenzy. She backed him toward the bed, removing his shoes by standing on the toes and kneeing him back further. The loafers didn’t give up much protest.  
  He gladly dropped to the thin mattress when his heels struck the bed frame. She reached under her Sunday morning best dress, shucked her underwear, and straddled him like a seasoned veteran. He’d always thought she was a virgin, but she impaled herself with expert precision.  
  I guess they’re right, it’s always the quiet ones.  
  That was his last coherent thought. She bucked and arched against him, driving him to the brink and over so fast that he didn’t have time to enjoy the build-up.  
  He collapsed on the floral coverlet, wondering what just happened. “Sorry, I don’t usually--”  
  His last words were cut off by the pastel pink headband she’d been wearing, twisted and pressed to his throat with inhuman strength. He fought to get free, but she rode him like a prize bull at the fair, to the end.


	2. Heart to Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: begging

Billy followed Zahra into her exotic bedroom. There were symbols on the walls, the bed, and even the ceiling. Her hips swayed seductively, the thin material hiding very little. Her long, ebony hair swayed just above the strange “tramp stamp” that winked at him below her skimpy top.  
  “You, uh, came pretty highly recommended,” he blurted. He didn’t know why he said that! He was specifically told _not_ to mention how much the older golfers bragged about her talents!  
  She seemed not to have heard what he said. She lit some candles around the bed, whispering something he didn’t catch.  
  “Sorry, what was that?”  
  She turned to him, her eyes bright with something he labeled “lust”. She strode toward him, tugged him back toward the midnight blue bed. She stepped him out of his shoes, her own feet as bare as her midriff. Her hands skimmed up his shirt to the top button, deftly slipped all of them out of their holes until his toned abs appeared. He slid what passed for a shirt over her head, the heavy mass of hair tumbling about her bare shoulders.  
  She rubbed her moderate bosom against the rough stubble of his chest hair. He hadn’t had to shave for a show in a couple of days. He thought about warning her of rug burn, but she definitely seemed to be a woman who knew these things.  
  Her hips teased his while she unbuttoned his fly. _Boy, she really knows how to keep a guy hard,_ he thought. She rolled her lithe body along his, slowly inched the zipper down with each wave. He sprang out of them the instant he had room to do so.  
  She eyed his young body appreciatively. “So much better than the others.” Then, so quietly he almost didn’t hear, she said “Such a shame.”  
  Before he could ask what she meant, she had his pants off and pushed him on the bed. Her sheer pants whispered down her legs with little encouragement. He forgot what he was going to ask. She made the two steps toward him look like something out of a Beyonce video.  
  One knee lifted to the plush mattress, then the other. She crawled up his body, undulating against him as she went. He was harder than a rock when she planted her hands on his chest and rocked onto the balls of her feet above him.  
  “Hell yes,” he growled.  
  She lowered herself by inches, staring him in the eye, even while she impaled herself. He couldn’t take it forever. He tried to push on her hips, but she had better leverage. She tsked at him, slid back up to the head and began the slow descent again. He was a stripper by trade, so there was a long way to go before she would be balls deep.  
  “Please,” he begged. “You’re killing me here.”  
  She bent to lick one flat nipple. “Not yet,” she said against his skin.  
  The hairs on the back of his neck leapt to attention, but she distracted him from her words. She sucked a bit of skin near his nipple into her mouth, lightly held it there with her teeth. She had a mouthful of his skin until he was slowly, fully immersed. She released his pectoral muscle with a soft suckling sound.  
  He swore under his breath. The woman was potent!  
  She swam up his diving board, dropped down it in shallow feints. She feathered her body up and down his, murmuring things he didn’t quite catch, bringing him close to climax and backing off. It drove him beyond his limits. He begged her for release time and again, but she was merciless. She tortured him for what felt like hours, the murmuring becoming a chant. She wrung words from him that he didn’t understand, until the world exploded inside his head.  
  Zahra felt the climax shake him, absorbed the energy from it. He’d lasted long enough for her to set in motion all four deaths. The next time those old men had sex--with their wives or their mistresses, it didn’t matter--they would suffer a fatal heart attack.  
  Just like Billy.


	3. Cold as Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Temperature play

“Ugh, sympathetic magic. Tastes horrible.”  
  Sam lifted his brows, but he wasn’t going to ask how magic could have a flavor.  
  “So we were right, it was a witch? I mean, guy was perfectly healthy. He was, uh…” Dean smirked. “He was a stripper.” He waggled his eyebrows at Rowena, to see if it got a reaction out of her.  
  “The shaved chest gave it away. That or a porn star. Judging by the stubble, he had a show maybe three days ago.” She smirked at him, daring him to ask if she knew these things firsthand.  
  He didn’t. “Anyway, dying at his age, with his… profession would’ve been weird enough, but Sam found this symbol on his heart.” He showed her the photograph. Witches aren’t exactly squeamish, so he wasn’t overly worried about her puking in the trash can.  
  “Aye, that’s sympathetic magic, alright. She used his energy to cast a spell. Messy bit o’ magic.”  
  Neither Winchester felt like asking how messy, or how she knew that.  
  She waited to see if they did, a smirk playing about her eyes. “Judging from this mark, and how it appears he died, I’d say her victim, or victims, will die, shall we say, in flagrante?”  
  “Wait, there could be more than one victim?” Sam asked.  
  “Depends on how long she rode this stallion before his heart gave out. Again, judging from his… overall health,” the smirk broke out, “I’d say you could be looking at up to ten victims.”  
  Dean took the bait she dropped. “Ten?! How could you _possibly_ think she cursed ten guys?”  
  She cast a very pointed look at the bulge under the sheet below his waist. “One for every inch.”  
  Sam nobly turned his laugh into a cough.

  Betsy sat across from her best friend, a bowl of ice on the bed between them.  
  “Are you sure about this?” Karen asked.  
  Betsy smiled and patted her hand. “Trust me, Ben did it to me last month.”  
  Karen looked skeptical, but she knew what Ben could do. If Betsy said it was good, she was willing to give it a shot. She lay back on the bed, which was covered in old towels. That was her one condition for this little experiment. She didn’t want to have to sleep in a wet bed tonight.  
  “Oh, you’ll get wet alright,” Betsy had said.  
  Now here she lay, nervous and jittery. They’d been friends since elementary school, so she trusted Betsy. “Besty Betsy,” she called her.  
  The adventurous redhead plucked an ice cube from the bowl and lightly traced one cup of her friend’s bikini top. That had been another caveat from the timid brunette. She didn’t want her clothes wet, but she also didn’t want to be naked.  
  Karen’s nipple leapt to life under the ice. Betsy teased its mate erect for good measure. Before she could “prude up”, Betsy hooked the bikini with a finger and swept it to the side. She warmed her friend’s chilled flesh with the inside of her mouth. She lightly suckled, and Karen bucked under her.  
  “I--I don’t think I’m supposed to like that,” she stuttered.  
  Betsy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Yes, you bloody well are. I said you would, didn’t I?”  
  Karen nodded jerkily.  
  Betsy trailed the hand holding the ice cube, which had begun to go numb, down the quivering belly laid out like a feast on the towels. The ice was already melting, so a cold rivulet trickled down her belly behind Betsy’s fist. She licked it up, fast enough to spare her friend more embarrassment, but slow enough for her breath to warm her skin. Karen laughed nervously.  
  She jumped when a handful of ice was cupped against her bikini bottoms. She could only hold two at once, but it was a warm day. The contrast was startling. She blushed a bright red when Betsy popped those same ice cubes in her mouth.  
  Before either of them could think about it too much, or the ice to melt, Betsy yanked the ties at each side of the briefs, exposing cold flesh to the afternoon sunlight.  
  “Wait, what--” Karen jumped and gasped. Betsy couldn’t reassure her this time. Her mouth was otherwise occupied.  
  The ice tingled her nethers, the hot breath brought them to life. Betsy was adventurous, not skilled, so she was essentially rolling ice cubes around her friend’s most sensitive parts with her tongue. She loved tying a cherry stem in a knot with her tongue at parties, and Karen was beginning to see why the boys always found it sexy.  
  Betsy’s tongue went numb from the ice, so she resorted to lapping at the frozen flesh like a dog. A very thirsty bitch, you might say.  
  Karen shuddered and bucked, then seemed to have a seizure. If Betsy hadn’t done the same thing with Ben, she might have been alarmed.  
  When she finally let go, she tied the strings of the bikini bottoms. “See? I told you you’d like it.”  
  She flopped on her side next to Karen, arm tucked under her head. “Any time you need a good orgasm, just ask.” She swept the hair out of her face with a soft smile.  
  She dozed off for a while next to her best friend in the world, the remaining ice melting to water in the bowl. When she woke up, the setting sun gilded Karen’s hair to an almost auburn. She still looked as shocked and sated as she did when Betsy had fallen asleep.  
  She was feeling smug, until she realized that Karen was cold to the touch, and she wasn’t breathing.


	4. Mirror Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mirror sex

Max looked up at the mirror he’d had installed above his bed. It was an antique, so the workmen had been reluctant to anchor it to the ceiling. He pointed out that if it fell, it would land on a soft bed, instead of a hard floor. They just shrugged, as if to say “We tried to warn him.”

  He’d gotten it for a steal at an estate sale, so he wasn’t worried about the loss. He was more worried about broken glass in the middle of the night.

_ Jimmy says it’ll drive the ladies wild, _ he thought.  _ We’ll find out tonight. _

  Lucy rang the bell, right on cue. He closed his bedroom door, so she wouldn’t see the surprise early. He’d aired the bedroom since last night, and lit a few candles for good measure. He tested his breath, and that twelve hour toothpaste was still working. He was as ready for her as he was going to be.

  He whistled when he saw the red strapless dress that hugged her angles like butter on toast. “Wow, I like that dress you’re almost wearing.”

  She slapped her purse against his chest and shrugged out of the fur coat that was as black as her heart. “Cut the sweet talk, Max. You said you had something new to try.”

  That’s why he loved having sex with her. There was no artifice, no pretending to like each other. They were both great in bed, fought like cats and dogs outside of it. They’d agreed to this arrangement, until one of them found someone who could satisfy both body and mind. Neither were faithful, nor was it expected. It was just sex.

  “Aw, you don’t want a drink first?” he asked, feigning hurt.

  “No, and if you don’t show me your newest toy, I’ll light up here and now.”

  That had been one of their sticking points, her smoking. The first time they’d had sex, she’d nabbed a plate with strawberry residue and lit up, right there in the bed. He’d blown a gasket, which had devolved into angry sex. Not that he minded angry sex, but he didn’t like the smell of stale smoke in his apartment.

  “Well, I thought we’d get some pleasantries out of the way first, but if you must see it now…” He led her down the hall, opened his bedroom with a flourish.

  “What am I supposed to see?” she asked, tapping one stiletto on the plush carpeting.

  Max walked in and sprawled on the bed, hands behind his head. “Come see for yourself.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. She was pretty sure she knew what it was, now. She left the extreme high heels on, in case he needed a jab in the calf later. She flopped on the bed next to him.

  “I don’t get what people see in this,” she grumbled. Sure, her hair was splayed artfully over the pillow, which she’d never noticed without a mirror, but how was this supposed to make sex better?

  Max turned on his side and fondled one of her breasts. “No, don’t look at me,” he said. He looked up, so she looked, and... it  _ was _ kind of hot, seeing his hand on her breast from a straight on viewpoint. She grabbed his wrist and pulled it between her legs. That wasn’t as sexy, but she knew he could make it  _ feel _ sexy if he wanted to.

  She reached over to yank his fly open, but he’d gotten smart. He didn’t wear pants that she could break. He’d opted for silk pajama pants, with easy access. He thought ahead. She scowled, but reached into the flap and took him in hand. She looked up into the mirror, and it was the hottest thing she’d seen yet. She relaxed into the pillows, stroking him without once looking at him in real life.

  He didn’t let her deprive herself of pleasure. He tugged her up on top of him. She straddled him and dropped down with no barrier between her legs. She’d prepared, too. She looked up, from her position of power. He admired the arch of her throat, the way her hair brushed her shoulders.

  Lucy cupped her small breasts, eyes still locked with her reflection. She ground her hips against his, and it was captivating for both of them. She arched back slightly, so she could watch her abdomen curl and stretch. This was a new angle for him. He had to fight to keep from erupting too quickly. It didn’t help that she was stroking her own body, and licking her lips.

  He waited until she shuddered and moaned before giving in to passion.

  He screamed when he ejaculated into thin air. It splattered his legs, but he’d just watched his casual sex partner vanish before his eyes. It dried in his leg hair, unnoticed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Feet

Dean knocked on the door with the name Maxwell Samuelson on it. There was no answer. He knocked again, giving his fake FBI name. Several of the victims knew this guy, so he was their best lead.  
  They were surprised when a woman called for them to enter. A quick glance passed between them before they opened the door.  
  A plump brunette sat at the desk with Samuelson’s name plaque on it, her thick legs crossed at an odd angle. She was dressed, if you could call it that, in very little. It was definitely _not_  office attire. The boys weren’t quite sure how to proceed.  
  “We’re looking for a Max Samuelson,” Sam began.  
  “There any reason you’re sitting at his desk?” Dean asked, working up to Bad Cop.  
  The woman, who didn’t look like any secretary they’d ever seen, smirked. “Because he asked me to.” She uncrossed her legs, the tiny skirt causing the boys to look away until her thighs were closed again.  
  When she set her other foot down, a muffled sound sent their hands for the guns in their waistbands. Dean had his half out of his pants, Sam held his where it was.  
  “What was that?” Dean asked, half in a fighting stance.  
  The woman grinned wider. “That? It’s just my footstool.” She dug her heel deeper, and the sound came again, a bit louder.  
  Dean stood straighter, understanding dawning on him. Sam, on the other hand, had his gun out and at his side.  
  At the sight of the gun, the woman shot to her feet, hands up. The smugness was gone, as was the provocative posturing.  
  “I didn’t hurt him, I swear. Well, not permanently,” she hedged.  
  Sam rushed the desk while Dean fought to keep his serious face. His arms crossed while he waited for his little brother to see what he was pretty sure was under the desk, still fighting a chuckle.  
  The laugh broke free when Sam’s gun whipped up toward the ceiling, and he staggered backwards. If the dominatrix, as he now knew her to be, hadn’t moved, he’d have squashed her against the wall.  
   "He really did ask me to," she squeaked.  
  “Sorry, uh, I didn’t mean… We had some questions for you about… We can wait in the hall while you, uh… put on some clothes.” The last was said with a hint of desperation. Sam could handle dissection, and bodily fluids, but seeing a pasty, scrawny thirty-something wedged under a desk in nothing but a harness and ball gag… Well, it made him want to gag.  
  “We don’t judge at the FBI, sir, ma’am. My partner isn’t as… enlightened as some of us at the bureau. We’ll wait outside while you change. I hope you brought flats, miss, ‘cause those are… impressive. Professional heels, I think they’re called.” The secretary gasped in outrage.  
  Dean clapped Sam on the back as he passed, and guided him out the door, closing it behind them.  
  “Look, man, it’s perfectly normal.” He would’ve said more, but there were several heads peeking above cubicles.  
  Several minutes later, Max opened the door. His tie was slightly askew, but he was dressed in record time. The dominatrix apparently doubled as his secretary, as she was seated next to the desk in a more modest skirt and shoes. She’d buttoned the few buttons she’d undone while she… catered to her boss’ needs.  
  Max closed the door behind them and took his time sitting where the Rubenesque secretary had been when they walked in.  
  “Look, about what you saw…” he began.  
  Dean waved a dismissive hand. “No need to explain. It’s well-documented that certain men in positions of power occasionally like to have the roles reversed.” His notorious dimple was firmly anchoring the smile that wanted to break free. “That’s not what we’re here for, but it is sort of related.”  
  Max was already quite pale, so it was hard to judge his relative guilt in the supernatural murders. He weakly gestured for them to continue.  
  “When was the last time you saw either Karen Williams, Lucy Standish, or Susie Brown?” Sam asked, setting the photos on the desk.  
  The man regained color, then lost it. “First of all, no matter what you heard, I’m faithful to my wife.”  
  Dean raised a single eyebrow, flicked his eyes at the secretary.  
  “I saw that, mister. What I do doesn’t involve sex. I don’t care what ‘50 Shades’ says, it’s unprofessional to have sex with clients.”  
  Dean mouthed ‘clients’ at Sam, but didn’t say anything.  
  “Look, I’m sorry, but we have to follow every lead. There are rumors that you knew all three victims, in one capacity or another.” Sam tiptoed around the issue with the expertise of a balladeer.  
  “Not to mention the fact that you and your wife are currently separated,” Dean baldly stated.  
  Max folded his hands in what Dean called Politician Lying Pose. “Yes, we are separated. We decided that we’re better friends than spouses. She likes the money I make too much for a divorce, and I enjoy the sex too much to divorce her.  
  “I know those girls because I work as college security on weekends.” He pointed with his folded hands. “Too many wild parties going on, and I live near the campus. Let me tell you, that friend of Karen’s is one of the worst offenders.”  
  “Betsy Dillon?” Sam asked, consulting his notes.  
  Max nodded.  
  “I really don’t know why they’d blame me for any of these tragedies, gentlemen. Poor Karen died of a heart attack, they said. And I’m sure Susie had a reason for what she did.”  
  He leaned back, into what they called Politician Dropping A False Lead Pose. “As for Susie, you’re misinformed. A colleague of mine took her out a few times, but _I_ never did. She’s too bookish for my taste. His friends are probably blaming me for whatever _he_ did to set her off.”  
  “I notice you don’t mention Lucy at all,” Dean said.  
  The faintest twitch of an eye was the only tell they got.  
  “She was reported missing, I thought.”  
  “Why weren’t you the one to report her disappearance?” Dean waited a beat before dropping the bomb. “We have a witness who saw her enter your home, but never saw her leave.”  
  His arms crossed defensively. “That just means they fell asleep before she left. Doesn’t prove a thing.”  
  Dean smirked. “Surveillance cameras don’t sleep.”  
  Sam dropped another bit of evidence into the silence that followed. “She wasn’t exactly dressed for a night of Parcheesi, either.”  
  Max stared at a corner of the ceiling. “I don’t know what to tell you.”  
  “How about the truth?” Sam was gentler in his delivery than his brother. He got the sense that this man knew something.  
  “You wouldn’t believe me,” Max said softly.  
  “We’ve heard some pretty weird stories. Try me,” Dean said.  
  “Ever heard of a cursed mirror?” Max asked without hope.  
  The boys exchanged a Look.  
  Dean’s legs uncrossed. “Actually, we have.”  
  “Why don’t you tell us what happened,” Sam asked, hands steepled between his knees.


	6. She's So Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Corset

“Where did you get this mirror?” Dean asked.  
   Max stared at his desk, glad they’d sent his secretary out of the room first. “Estate sale.”  
   The boys exchanged a look.  
   “Do you remember what else was in that sale?”  
   Max looked at them like they were crazy. “What makes you think I’d know that? I didn’t memorize their inventory. To be honest, I didn’t go very far. The place kinda gave me the creeps.”  
   Dean rubbed one hand down his face. He didn’t call Max an idiot, which Sam gave him credit for.  
   “Any item you can remember may help us. If the mirror was cursed, there may be other time bombs out there,” Sam implored.  
   Max threw up his hands. “I dunno, it kind of looked like a sex dungeon in there. I wasn’t gonna buy my wife a corset second-hand, even if we are separated.”  
   Sam wrote down the corset while Dean got the name of the company in charge of the estate sale.  
   “I’m sure we can get a list from them,” he said. “If I were you, I’d take that mirror down and cover it. Put it somewhere no one can look in it.”  
   Max shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way. I looked in the damned thing several times. It didn’t take Lucy ‘til she… you know. She was staring into it the whole time.”  
   “So it doesn’t take anybody who isn’t…” Dean made a rocket motion with his hands.  
   “I think so.”  
   “Well, put it somewhere you never have sex, then. I’d still cover it up, just to be safe.”  
   Max shuddered. “I don’t want it anymore. Can’t you guys… I dunno, smash it or something?”  
   Sam leaned forward a bit. “Problem is, that doesn’t always work. We can take it away, lock it up until we know how to lift the curse, if that’s what you want.” He wasn’t sure it would fit in the Impala, but they had to do something.  
   “Please, take it. It’s in my garage. I’ll leave it outside after work.”  
   The boys arranged a pickup time, shook his hand, and left.  
   Back in the car, they mutually agreed that Max was another victim. He was unlikely to be the mastermind they were looking for.  
   They split up to cover more ground. Dean went to talk to the estate salesperson while Sam checked Max’s house for hex bags that could have triggered the mirror. They’d never heard of a mirror that only sucked people in after sex, but a spell with a trigger action was fairly common in their line of work.

   “I don’t know about this,” Mary said.  
   “Well, at least let me see it,” James asked.  
   Mary shuffled out of the bathroom in fuzzy slippers and an ivory corset, a sheer negligee over it.  
   “It doesn’t feel right,” she grumbled.  
   “You said you didn’t want to wear any of Jenny’s stuff, so I got you your own.”  
   She tugged at a loose thread over her ribs. “Sure, it isn’t _hers_ , but it belonged to _someone_ else. Why don’t I get my own clothes? It feels like you’re trying to bring her back by dressing me in the same stuff.”  
   A shadow contorted his face, but he smoothed it away before she recoiled very far. “If you know how much I paid for that, you wouldn’t complain.”  
   She relaxed a fraction. “I’d just like something new, that’s all,” she whispered.  
   He got up and rubbed her shoulders through the thin shift. “I know, honey. You will. In fact, I was on my way to buy you one when I saw the estate sale. If you only knew the history behind this corset…” He stroked the whalebone stays, not really seeing the woman within them.  
   “Then tell me,” she asked timidly.  
   He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “I don’t know either, but I bet there were some pretty spicy times in this.” He wobbled her side to side by her already tiny waist.  
   She didn’t smile, like he thought she ought to. She didn’t seem to like his gift at all. That was fine, she’d do well enough for what he wanted.  
   “Come on, let’s take it for a spin.” He turned and patted the bed.  
   Mary shrugged out of the shift without the slightest hint of sensuality. His Jenny would’ve made a game out of it. He fought off the past, to focus on the present. He could’ve kept the mask, used it on Mary, but he rather liked breathing. No, he’d get her into bed the old-fashioned way.  
   Mary didn’t like the way he looked _through_ her when they got in the bedroom. He was a nice enough guy most of the time, but whenever they got to what should be the fun part, he got all stiff and cold. She knew he was thinking of his dead wife, so she tried to give him time to warm up to someone new. She followed him to bed, still wearing the rigid corset. It dug into her ribs so bad she was sweating, which made it itchy.  
   He made her get on top this time, even though she wasn’t very good at it. He didn’t guide her hips the way they ought to move, like he usually did. Instead, he was focused on the stupid corset. He was stroking it like she imagined he should be petting her. She didn’t know much about the ways of the bedroom, but she did know that an object shouldn’t be more sexy than the person in it.  
   Her rhythm was worse than usual tonight. She couldn’t get a good breath in the blasted corset; in fact, it seemed to tighten with every attempt to breathe. She struggled to get free, tear at the laces, but he took her shudders as pleasure. It made him more excited, more enthusiastic.  
   She was on the verge of blacking out when something sharp nicked her spine. Suddenly, she was free. She fell forward onto James’ chest, gasping for air. He spilled his seed, quite oblivious to her near-death experience.  
   “Are you okay, ma’am?”  
  James whipped the covers up over them, scowling at the rugged man in denim who dared enter his home unannounced.  
   “Who the hell are you? Why are you in my house?”  
   The man casually slid the knife he was holding back into his waistband. “I’m the guy who just saved your lady friend’s life, that’s who.”  
   James looked at Mary, then. He saw that expensive corset sagging away from her body, and he saw red.  
   “If you had _any_ idea how much that corset cost, you wouldn’t have ruined it!” he roared.  
   “Buddy, I dunno if you noticed, but that expensive piece of crap was cursed. It was squeezing your lady friend to death. Literally.”  
   Mary was weeping now, tiny sobs that he barely heard. Mary never did anything dramatic, except when she nearly died.


End file.
